


four and one

by peakgay



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4981333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peakgay/pseuds/peakgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It becomes a habit.</p><p>Or, five different times that Burr catches onto the relationship between Washington and Hamilton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	four and one

**Author's Note:**

> for a friend who will remain anonymous, as will i with this fairly anonymous account. i just know i'd be sad if any...works, were being kept out of the light of the public.

i.

In the June heat, Aaron Burr strolls innocently past the tent where the General stays. It’s only the third day since he announced that Alexander Hamilton would play the role of his ‘right hand man,’ something Burr found exasperating but unsurprising. He pauses, unsuspecting and only merely because the hem of his shirt was not tucked, but the gasping he hears in the following moment is irrefutable.

His face burns with shame as he stands, stock still, warmth pricking across his body. The gasps are small, quiet, forced out by something Burr imagines must be heavy and strong. He bites his lip – he recognizes the voice after another sound follows, more akin to a quiet moan.

Burr turns suddenly on his heel and strides away, wiping the thought clear from his mind.

ii.

He keeps his eyes glued on Lee (a fool, truly) but there’s Alexander Hamilton in the corner of his eye, with General Washington staring him down with a darkness Burr has never seen before in the General’s eyes. Washington’s hand finds Hamilton’s shoulder, close to rough, and they move away – “Meet me inside,” spoken in a sharp tone. When Burr glances up again, Alexander Hamilton’s fingers are wrapped around the General’s wrist under the cuffs of his shirt, and one of Washington’s hands grips the lapel of Hamilton’s.

He approaches the tent not much later, thinking he might stand up for Hamilton, remind the General of Hamilton’s successes, say that they can fix things, patch it up.

But then there’s that familiar sound, a grunt that could come from a battlefield but has a toxic dream airing around it, the sounds of a man but with the emotions of a woman when she’s taken. He thinks of the women he’s touched, where he’s put his fingers or his mouth, the way they gasp and writhe and beg him never to stop (because their husbands, British as they are, never seem to reciprocate and understand the way the world between a woman’s soft legs works).

A muffled gasp, and Burr shakes his head.

It’s not his business. He walks away.

iii.

He comes back. As always. Washington looks pleased. He nods and Hamilton bows his head.

Burr licks his lips. He looks at Hamilton’s tongue, his nervous hands.

The look between Alexander and the General.

Do most of the men really not notice? It isn’t gossiped about. Burr doesn’t talk about it – he doesn’t think it’s right to betray someone in such a manner. What goes on when no one else is in the room – well, that’s something Burr has no interest in. So he doesn’t interrupt the General and Hamilton when he hears those recognizable sounds.

Do they think themselves subtle?

Or just desperate?

The way the General calls him ‘son,’ now feels…well, Burr starts to understand it.

iv.

Alexander Hamilton never stops.

He outright yells at Thomas Jefferson, refuses to let him get away with – well, anything. Part of Burr wants to roll his eyes and sigh, but for the most part he recognizes that Hamilton is not only intelligent, but he’s…believable. He finds himself trusting him, wondering why they haven’t gotten along better.

He remembers why they never stood at each other’s sides when he hears Washington saying, in a sharp voice, “You need more votes.”

What follows is what he already knows, what he expects, but he finds himself…protecting them.

Because if someone else were to hear, or see?

It would shatter everything.

So he leans quietly against the wall, and he closes his eyes.

If he imagines the snapping of hips when he hears Hamilton gasp and groan – if he imagines Hamilton bent over the side of a heavy wooden desk, clinging to the edges, his cock straining in his breeches…

Well, Burr is allowed to have some secrets. He can keep some things close to his chest. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

He does make sure to leave before they finish.

v.

Burr only follows him because he’s worried.

He’s a concerned friend. He doesn’t know where Hamilton will go.

Hamilton goes and he finds Washington and he nearly shoves him.

A bit of a surprise. Burr hesitates. They both look at him. Hamilton’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth.

“Aaron Burr,” he and Washington say at the same time.

“Mr. President,” Burr says, drawing his eyes over to the President. His face is lined, tired, old but not – too old. “Secretary…Hamilton.”

“Uh,” Hamilton ducks his head and shifts on his feet. “I didn’t – realize…”

Burr nods. “I didn’t mean to surprise you,” he says. “I was…worried. After what Secretary Jefferson said.”

Hamilton shakes his head. “Is that why you’re here?”

“It is.”

“No, it isn’t.” Washington’s voice is hard.

So is Burr.

He blinks between them.

It’s about fucking time.

He swallows around the thickness in his throat. Washington looks between them and Hamilton sputters.

“We’ll talk about it…at a later date, but for now, you two…” Washington pauses. “Should follow me. Burr, you are free to make your decisions. You’re a free man, yes?”

Burr licks his lips and glances between them.

He doesn’t remember much clearly, besides the clicking of footsteps as he watches Hamilton’s hips and the quick turning of his head as he glances over his shoulder, at the President, and then down at his fidgeting hands.

It turns into a release of every frustration he’s ever had. Washington barely touches him – fair enough, he wasn’t expecting affection between them. But touching Hamilton, that’s a different story. There’s something disgusting and disturbing about it, but Burr drinks it in as he pulls Hamilton’s trousers down to his thighs, wraps his fingers around the hard cock and revels in the way Hamilton’s head falls back, his mouth opens, the sounds he’s so used to escape.

It will remain in this room, unspoken, so Burr pulls Hamilton’s hair when he drops to his knees and unbuttons and tugs at the strings that keep Burr’s hard cock. Hamilton’s mouth is beautiful, warm and soft and wet and eager and if he does believe in a God, then why did this God create Alexander Hamilton with such an open throat and soft lips?

Later, he strokes himself as he watches Washington fuck Hamilton slowly over the table. When Hamilton finally comes, it’s with sputtered gasps and twitching hips, and the President doesn’t stop fucking him until he’s exhausted and Burr has come a second time; not down Hamilton’s throat.

If they forget it, if they wipe it from their minds, it will remain safe.

Nothing will change.

Until it all does.


End file.
